


December

by kunstvogel



Category: Loudermilk (TV)
Genre: Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Family, Gen, Paternal Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/pseuds/kunstvogel
Summary: Loudermilk and Clairedon’tcelebrate Christmas together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in the limbo between season 1 and 2. I do not know anything about Seattle weather.

“We should get a tree,” Claire says.

“Yeah, that’s a no.” Sam sits down in his favorite armchair, sipping from his coffee gingerly. Claire slides to the other end of the couch, closer to him, and gives him The Look. Sam is starting to really hate that look. He knows he’s a mess, why does Claire have to get on his case about it all the time?

“It’s almost Christmas,” she says. “And it’s cold outside, and it’s boring in here. _And_ we didn’t do _anything_ for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s because we’re not family, and we don’t talk about family in this house,” Sam mutters.

“Well, coffee is thicker than blood,” Claire says, grinning. “So-”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Claire.”

“You know what I meant! I know things are weird with your parents and my mom is a bitch, but-”

“Thank you for the reminder.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “ _But_ we have another family, don’t we?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “What, the guys from group?”

“Yeah!”

“No.”

“No?” Claire pouts. Sam thinks privately that she looks like a pug with an underbite, and wonders how the expression ever worked on her parents. Probably it didn’t, and they just wanted to shut her up.

Sam shakes his head. “No, we are definitely not having Christmas with the guys from group. Nor are we getting a tree.”

Claire crosses her arms, slouching. “You’re like the Grinch, man. Why do you hate fun?”

“Uh, because Christmas isn’t _fun_ ,” Sam puts his coffee down, looking at Claire. “It’s two months of the same ten shitty songs playing everywhere you go, and gaudy decorations, and a capitalist wet dream where everyone blows their years’ savings on meaningless gifts nobody really needs.”

“Well yeah, but it’s supposed to be fun and cheerful.” Claire smiles. “And you forgot about the big turkey dinner with your family.”

Sam scoffs. “I can eat a turkey dinner anytime of the year. And the less I see my family, the better.”

“Jesus, dude, did you even have any fun when you were married?” Claire looks like she regrets the words as soon as she says them, and uncrosses her arms. “Sorry.”

Sam blinks, hurt. “That was different.”

“I guess so,” Claire says softly, looking apologetic. “I dunno, I just thought, maybe a distraction would be nice, you know? Group gets so...heavy. Maybe a change of pace would be welcome.”

Sam sighs. “You’re free to do whatever you want for the guys at group. But I don’t want any of it in here,” he says, gesturing to the expanse of the apartment, “alright?”

“Sure,” Claire says, smiling in that way Sam knows means trouble. He just sighs, shaking his head and resigning himself to his fate.

* * *

“We’re out of milk,” Claire says a few days later. “And like, anything edible.”

“Okay, I get the idea.” Sam sighs. Their food had been dwindling for a while now, and he isn’t surprised. “How about you come with me to the store this time? I’m tired of getting a hundred last-minute texts while I’m waiting in line to check out.”

“Fine,” Claire says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll get my coat.” She disappears into her room, and Sam half expects her to not come back out. But she does, wearing the same oversized, thin spring jacket and ratty knit beanie she’d shown up at his doorstep in nearly two months ago now. Sam raises an eyebrow but says nothing, putting on his own winter coat, hat, and gloves. It’d dropped to the low forties the other day, and a cursory glance at his phone confirms that it is lower still today.

Claire follows Sam to the bus stop, fidgeting for a few minutes while they wait. She takes out a cigarette and lights up, then pauses. She cranes her head back to look at the sky and grins.

“Look, it’s snowing!”

Sam looks up too, watches the flakes fall to the ground and melt as they touch humid cement. He glances at Claire, seeing the unabashed joy on her face, and can’t help but smile. It’s sentimental and not something she’d ever let him live down, so he hides the expression quickly, pulling his scarf up over his nose.

Claire’s excitement fades after a while, and Sam notices her shivering, her hands jammed in her pockets. He sighs, taking off his coat and holding it out for her.

“Here,” he says, “take it.”

“I’m f-fine,” she says, teeth chattering, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Clearly. Just take the damn coat before you turn into a Clairesicle.”

“Ugh, fine,” Claire says dramatically, and puts the coat on. Sam mourns its loss as the cold seeps through his sweater, but it’s better than watching Claire freeze half to death; she’s so skinny sometimes Sam worries she’ll snap in half at the lightest touch. The color gradually returns to her face, and she mutters a thank you.

The bus approaches, and they both pay their fares and find a seat in the back. Sam sneaks another glance at Claire, bundled up in his puffy grey coat and looking out the window, and wonders when he’d started to care for the girl. He really hadn’t cared when she first stormed into his life; he’d found her immature and bratty and had wanted just to get her sober and send her back home to her mother. But something had changed between then and New Orleans, and she’d somehow become the only thing that made any sense in his life.

_I’m getting soft,_ Sam thinks, shaking his head.

* * *

Back at home, Sam unpacks their groceries into the kitchen. Claire finds the bag of household items, whisking them away. Sam wanders out to the living room to find her opening the boxes of fairy lights she’d snagged at the store. He shakes his head, putting on a record and sitting down with his laptop.

Sam hears Claire humming along as the opening chords of a slow rock song come on. He pauses, looking up and watching as she steps up onto a chair, fairy lights in hand, and starts to sing along.

“ _Dried up, a guitar upon my knee  
I should have sold out when the devil came for me  
Dig a hole and throw it out to sea  
Break the code, how happy I could be_

_“I still wave at the dots on the shore  
And I still beat my head against the wall  
I still rage and wage my little war  
I'm a shade and easy to ignore_”

Claire falls silent as the lyrics pause, glancing over her shoulder and raising an eyebrow at Sam. He thinks she’s probably expecting him to criticize her singing, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns his attention back to the article he was reading.

“Didn’t know you liked my music,” he remarks.

“It’s not all bad,” Claire admits, turning back to the lights. “This band is too sad, though. You should listen to something happy once in a while.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not allowed to criticize my music,” Claire says, “if I put some on. I don’t bitch about yours, so it’s only fair.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“‘Course not.” Sam hears Claire let out a sigh, the thud of boots on wood floor as she steps down off the chair. “There, now it looks Christmasy in here.”

Sam glances up, seeing that Claire has put up the fairy lights so they’re wrapped around the picture windows and draped over the fireplace. It does look rather cozy, but he’s glad she hadn’t gotten anything else especially holiday themed. This alone reminds him of Memphis in a way that makes his heart ache.

He says nothing, and doesn’t notice when Claire leaves the room.

* * *

Sam wakes up early the morning of Christmas. He considers going back to sleep, but decides against it, putting on sweatpants and going to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He finds Claire there already, making a mug of hot cocoa, looking only half-awake.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, dropping a handful of marshmallows into the mug. “Hot chocolate?”

“Sure,” says Sam, and Claire hands him the mug, making another for herself. “Hey, Claire? I, uh, actually got something for you.”

“Huh?” Claire glances over her shoulder at Sam. “I thought you hated Christmas.”

“I do,” Sam says. “But this is something I would’ve done anyway.”

Claire makes a face. “Is this another one of those weird days where you do something _nice_ for once, then?”

Sam shrugs, not answering her. He waits until she’s made her own hot chocolate, then goes to his room and brings out a wrapped gift. Claire takes it, setting her cocoa aside. Sam sits in his favorite armchair and watches as she opens the gift, tearing up brown paper wrapping and looking at what’s inside- a thick, insulated winter coat; black, lined on the inside and around the hood with shearling, and two heavy knit sweaters, in navy blue and grey- all new, with tags still on.

“Jeez, Loudermilk,” Claire says. “This is...actually really nice.”

“Eh,” Sam waves a hand. “You looked cold, waiting for the bus the other day. And...you should have some new clothes to wear.” He knows Claire’s clothes mostly come from donation bins, and what little she’d taken from home when she first left.

Claire smiles shyly. “Thanks,” she says, picking up her hot cocoa again.

“I know I’m not always the best roommate,” Sam says, “or...whatever role I play in your life. But if you ever really need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, alright?”

“Okay.” Claire makes a face. “Sorry I didn’t get you anything. I thought you’d get all pissy about it.”

“It’s not a _present_ ,” Sam argues. “You’re not obligated to get anything for me.” He thinks privately that her being here at all is enough- she’d honestly been a rock for him, with everything that’s happened- maybe even more than that.

“Okay,” says Claire, rolling her eyes.

He wonders if she feels the same way - that what they share now is almost a chance for redemption; for Sam to do better than his own father, and for Claire, perhaps, to be there to support someone in a way she wasn’t able to with her own father. She’d talked briefly in group about how she’d blamed herself for the elder Wilkes’ suicide, how she’d seen all of the signs but hadn’t been there for him.

Sam won’t ever admit it aloud, but he cares deeply for the girl, in a way that confuses and sometimes frightens him. She feels almost like a little sister; he has the same responsibility to her as a father would to his daughter, but to think of her in that intimate of ways is uncomfortable- they’re not related.

They lapse into silence, both drinking their cocoa in the quiet December morning.


	2. Artwork

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics are from [Buying a New Soul](https://youtu.be/O85eq05Cr6U). Porcupine Tree is Loudermilk approved and you can fight me on this. (No, actually, he did name one of their albums in 1x05, and I was ecstatic. It was _Fear of a Blank Planet,_ if you were wondering, which you probably are not.)


End file.
